


in midnights; in cups of coffee

by dreamweavernyx



Series: the better ground (wakanda modern-day!AU) [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Badass women being badass, Gen, all hail banana bread, banana bread, coffeeshop!au, erik is not succeeding, erik is trying very hard not to swear, erik isn't related to the whole clan!AU, good dogs!!, gratuitous pokemon go references sorry not sorry, pete and mj cameos!!, the shuri/mj is there only if you squiiiint real hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 21:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13960752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamweavernyx/pseuds/dreamweavernyx
Summary: “This isn’t Starbucks, princess. People don’t tip me because I smile at them and ask how their damn day went, they do it because the coffee’s fucking good.”She sticks out her tongue at him, lightning-quick, and shifts her stack of books so she can pull out a battered-looking wallet. “Hazelnut soy latte, please.”Erik pauses, actually pauses in his raid crusade, to stare incredulously at her.“Which part of ‘this isn’t Starbucks’ didn’t you understand, kid? We don’t ruin good coffee with that shit they call syrup.”Or, Erik runs a small coffeeshop, plays some Pokemon Go, reluctantly makes some friends, and wishes everybody would just stop assuming he makes coffee like Starbucks.





	in midnights; in cups of coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irrationaljasmine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationaljasmine/gifts).



> HI YES I'M BACK. I watched Black Panther a couple of weeks ago and it Changed My Life. And then I saw this post last week about how [Erik looks like Mat Sella from Dream Daddy](https://twitter.com/GamesByKinmoku/status/971375712132304896) and my immediate thought was, _coffeeshop!AU, now._ So here we are.
> 
> Title is from [Seasons of Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wsj15wPpjLY) (from Rent).
> 
> Friendly reminder that Erik isn't related to the rest of the Wakanda gang in this AU!
> 
> Thanks irrationaljasmine for betareading <3

The door squeaks open and Erik quickly shoves his phone into the drawer below the till, looking up at the man peeking into the store. The phone hits the drawer with a loud clatter and the man startles, staring at the empty store before turning to look at Erik.

 

There’s an awkward silence, and Erik belatedly realises the theme music from his phone is still playing. Loudly. Into the silence.

 

He grabs for it and turns it onto silent.

 

“Er,” says the man, before Erik can so much as open his mouth. “Is that _Pokemon Go_?”

 

“…Yes,” says Erik. He’s mildly impressed that New Customer can tell the theme music from the 2 seconds of it that played in the store. “You play?”

 

“Team Mystic,” the man replies, a hint of pride weaving through his voice, and Erik can’t help but roll his eyes. He’s Team Valor through and through, and it’s his mission to turn every gym in this town red, but hey, at least this guy isn’t _Instinct_ trash like everyone else in this godforsaken town.

 

New Customer snorts, and Erik belatedly realises he’d said that out loud. “Instinct’s _mainstream_ ,” he snaps defensively, and the guy grins harder, steps into the store and up to the counter.

 

“Never said I disagreed, Valor. I’ve never seen your store around before, do you guys sell coffee?”

 

Erik barely refrains from pointing rudely at the coffee machine he’s sitting _right next to_ , because this guy’s the first customer of the day and it’s the store’s first week of operation, and he _really_ doesn’t want to get bad Yelp reviews just yet.

 

“The store’s called _The Better Ground_ , of course we sell coffee,” is what he says instead, sounding only slightly less rude. New Customer, unruffled, shrugs and asks for two lattes to go. Erik starts up the machine and the sound of grinding fills the air. After an awkward couple of minutes where both of them stare at Erik working the coffee machine, New Customer clears his throat.

 

“W’Kabi,” he says in what Erik assumes is a self-introduction. “The store’s new, yeah?”

 

“Erik,” Erik grunts in reply, ducking below the counter to grab the milk. “Opened two days ago.”

 

Silence again, and then a quiet thanks as W’Kabi takes the first cup and takes an appreciative sniff of his coffee. He takes a cautious sip, and pauses as his eyes widen. (It’s The Thing™ people do when they drink damn good coffee. Erik _loves_ seeing The Thing™.)

 

“Well,” W’Kabi says after two more sips, “guess you won’t remain empty for long then, Valor.” And with a backwards wave, he’s out of the store and down the street.

 

Erik chances a look back down at his phone. The Rhydon he’d been hoping to catch is gone now. _Dammit_.

 

~

 

“You mind if I study here?”

 

Erik looks up, keeping his thumb on the Moltres raid battle on his phone (now on mute; he’s learned from his mistake yesterday). There’s a slip of a teenage girl standing on the other side of the counter, braids askew and arms piled with engineering books. He grunts, gesturing at the mostly-empty café; she ignores his waving arm in favour of peering over the counter at his screen.

 

“Is that _Pokemon Go_?”

 

“Yeah, kid, what’s it to you?”

 

She sniffs at him. “I’m sixteen,” she says imperiously. “And aren’t baristas supposed to be nice and friendly?”

 

Erik shrugs quickly glancing down at his Gyarados’ rapidly declining health. _Ah, it’ll probably last for another minute_ , he thinks, looking back up and continuing to tap madly at the screen without looking. (Gyarados better not die while he’s dealing with this child.) “This isn’t _Starbucks_ , princess. People don’t tip me because I smile at them and ask how their damn day went, they do it because the coffee’s fucking good.”

 

She sticks out her tongue at him, lightning-quick, and shifts her stack of books so she can pull out a battered-looking wallet. “Hazelnut soy latte, please.”

 

He pauses, actually pauses in his raid crusade, to stare incredulously at her.

 

“Which part of ‘this isn’t Starbucks’ didn’t you understand, kid? We don’t ruin good coffee with that shit they call syrup.”

 

“Soy latte, then,” she returns, narrowing her eyes at him. Erik isn’t intimidated. He’s not going to be intimidated by a fucking _sixteen_ year old. Even if her textbooks look like they could concuss him if she happened to throw one in his direction. He’s _definitely_ not intimidated. Instead, he starts up the machine again, and makes a fresh latte. He slides it across the counter to her.

 

“We don’t do hipster vegan shit here either,” he tells her, once she’s taken a good two to three gulps. “Only good old cow milk, like normal people.”

 

Hipster Vegan Girl chokes on the coffee in her mouth, coughs, and immediately puts the mug back down on the counter with a _thunk_. She glares at it, and then back at him as though he’s just told her that he’s the zodiac killer. He swears he hears her mumble something like _W’Kabi said you were nice, you asshole_ , but then she’s gone in a flurry of braids, moving surprisingly fast for someone carrying their weight in textbooks.

 

The coffee’s still on the counter. Erik stares at the girl’s retreating back for a moment, shrugs, and then picks up the mug. No need to let perfectly good coffee go to waste.

 

~

 

And that would have been the end of the matter, except three hours later, just after the lunch rush, Hipster Vegan Girl comes back into the store with a bodyguard in tow. Or at least, the guy behind her looks like a bodyguard at first glance, but he’s not armed (visibly, at least), and is hefting a sizeable cardboard box that has “Wakanda Foods” printed on the side.

 

(Maybe the dude’s a ninja. God knows they have more than enough places to hide all their weapons and shit. Doesn’t help that this guy’s dressed in all black, like he’s ready to disappear into the shadows.)

 

“Hey,” says Maybe-Ninja-Dude. “Heard you were a jackass to my sister this morning.”

 

“Maybe your _sister_ should read the menu before assuming we’ve got stupid-ass hipster coffees like Starbucks,” Erik snarks back. He sees Maybe-Ninja-Dude’s gaze slide to the messy chalkboard menu, and then back, one judgmental eyebrow raised.

 

“Shuri has a dairy allergy. If she drinks too much dairy she won’t be able to breathe, and then she’ll black out and need to be sent to hospital. You’re lucky she only had two sips of that coffee. What kind of establishment is this, where you don’t listen to the customer’s requests?”

 

Erik bites back the instinctive _did you mean Wakanda establishment is this_ and the accompanying nod towards the man’s cardboard box, because _damn_ this is new information and now he feels a little like scum.

 

“That soy milk shit is too expensive, especially since I don’t know how much profit I have for buying ingredients right now,” he says instead, but then turns to Hipster Vegan Girl (Shuri?). “We do espresso though, that’s got no milk,” he offers as a sort-of apology.

 

Shuri scowls at him.

 

“You’re fucking forgiven, asshole,” she mutters, dodging a swipe from her brother at the swear word. “You’re lucky your coffee is legit.”

 

“And here,” Shuri’s brother adds, setting down the cardboard box and nudging it with his foot. “Take some soy milk so you won’t be a jerk to anyone else with dairy problems.”

 

Erik peers over the counter at the box, and immediately sits back down. It's full to the brim with cartons of soy milk. Dimly, he registers the lingering lunch-rush customers trying to not-so-subtly peer over at the drama unfolding.

 

“Do you run a soy milk _cartel_? Are you with the anti-dairy mafia? Why are you just casually carrying around a year’s worth of soy milk?”

 

Maybe-Ninja-Dude snorts. “I run an online supermarket business. You can have this batch for free and get a discount on the next couple of orders if that means that you don’t fuck up any more customers’ orders. Your place is the only decent coffee place in the neighbourhood and if you unnecessarily antagonise customers you’ll be shut down within the month.”

 

Erik doesn’t want to accept his damn charity – he’s got his _pride_ , dammit. But soy milk costs an arm and a leg (or possibly two avocado toasts) and hey, it’s _free shit_.

 

He leans over the counter and grabs the top carton as the machine cranks out a new coffee, and pours some of the milk in without frothing it because he’s still feeling a little petty. Seriously, who comes and tells the barista off instead of just finding another hipster coffee joint?

 

“There,” he grumbles, passing the soy latte in a takeaway cup to Shuri. She takes it without a _thanks_ , but her brother drops some bills and a business card into the tip jar. “For future soy milk orders,” he says when Erik stares at the card and raises a brow.

 

Erik studies the business card once the two of them have gone. It reads _T’Challa, Founder, Wakanda Foods_. An email address is listed, and Erik tucks it into his wallet. Not that he’s going to make soy milk a thing. It’s just in case.

 

(The next time Shuri walks into The Better Ground, _We do soy_ is scribbled in brackets next to the latte option on the menu.)

 

~

 

W’Kabi drops in almost every morning at half past ten, like clockwork, to buy a latte to go, and then comes back about half an hour to drink another one in the shop. “Don’t you have like, a _real_ job?” Erik asks rudely one morning, eyeing the other man’s sweatpants and t-shirt two sizes too big. Not that he minds, because when the shop’s relatively empty he and W’Kabi take on Pokemon Go raids together (they were _so close_ to getting that Lugia, dammit), but W’Kabi always seems like he’s got nothing better to do than hang around a tiny café and play with virtual monsters on his phone, and that in itself is very curious.

 

W’Kabi shrugs, and swirls the dregs of his coffee.

 

“I work from home, helping my high school friend with his startup,” he says. “But well, he doesn’t always need me on call, and it’s quiet at home with just me and Rhino, so…”

 

Erik chokes. “Rhino?!”

 

Somehow, it’s the right question. W’Kabi lights up and navigates to the photo gallery on his phone, opening an album titled “2ND LOVE OF MY LIFE”. It’s full of photos of an absolutely _massive_ black Labrador with soulful liquid chocolate eyes. In the first photo W’Kabi shows him, she’s sitting proudly next to an old couch that’s been savaged and tipped on its side.

 

Erik absolutely does not coo. He does _not_ coo. (He takes a second look, and holds back the _aww_ that threatens to slip out – he’s got an _image_ to maintain.)

 

“This is Rhino,” W’Kabi says proudly. “We named her that because she keeps charging into things in the house at full speed. It was funny when she was a puppy; less so after we lost the fifth standing lamp in a month.”

 

They scroll through a third of the album in the next half an hour (impressive, given that there are more than a _thousand_ photos in the album), just until the lunch crowd begins to stream in for their midday caffeine kicks.

 

“Feel free to bring Rhino along next time,” Erik tells W’Kabi as he clears the empty mug. “As long as she promises not to chew any of my furniture.”

 

“I make no guarantees,” grins W’Kabi, and leaves.

 

~

 

There’s a college student who looks the literal definition of punk hipster who comes into the café every Tuesday, orders a double shot espresso “as black as her soul”, and sits by the window for three hours sketching in a tiny notebook. She’s just as non-verbal as Erik is, and he’s never heard her answer a question in more than five words. He knows her name is MJ, she studies astrophysics with a minor in political science (because why not), she likes leather jackets, and well…that’s about it.

 

Today he learns one more thing about her when Shuri breezes into the café for her usual soy latte, turns around, sees MJ at the window, and promptly drops her cup of coffee. Thankfully it’s a takeaway cup – if she’d broken one of his mugs he’d yell at her, small echoey café space be damned.

 

As it is, the fallen coffee cup is already forming a puddle around Shuri’s fancy sneakers, and Erik chucks a wad of tissues at her face and gestures for her to clean up. “Dammit man,” he hisses, “you’re the only one we buy that expensive soy shit for, don’t go dropping it on floors like that!”

 

Shuri sniffs and comes back up with sodden tissues. “Don’t pretend like brother didn’t sponsor the soy milk. Also, is that _the_ MJ over there?”

 

“What do you mean _the_ MJ?”

 

His voice carries a little and Shuri cringes, shrinking into herself like that’ll make her less visible. MJ, however, must have good soundproofing on her earphones or something, because she doesn’t react at all.

 

“ _The_ MJ! She’s like, the top astrophysics student in the sophomore batch. And also the captain of the debate team. And she’s _super cool_. Everyone knows of her.”

 

“How do you even know a college student?” Erik asks, frowning. “Aren't you, like, in high school?”

 

“Shows what you know,” Shuri returns, sticking her tongue out at him. “I got moved up a couple of grades, I’m a college freshman.”

 

“Well, Miss College Freshman, I can bring her another coffee and a napkin with your number on it. Tell her that her biggest fan is here.”

 

Shuri sinks even lower. “Oh my god, please no.”

 

Erik pauses. And then grins as another idea takes root. “Oh no,” says Shuri, eyeing him warily. “That’s the shark smile. Why are you smiling the shark smile?”

 

“Oh,” Erik says, faux-innocently. He even bats his eyelashes for good measure. “No reason at all.”

 

~

 

“ _You told my brother I had a crush on MJ??_ ”

 

Shuri storms back into the café the next day and shrieks at Erik, and he thinks she should be very grateful for the empty café today. No witnesses for murder.

 

“Hi, squirt. Lovely day we’re having, isn’t it?”

 

She shoots him a venomous glare, wiggling onto a barstool by the counter. “Ubhuti spent the whole evening teasing me relentlessly. I _hate you_. I don't even like her! She’s just super cool. And very pretty. And-”

 

Erik very carefully does not say that MJ had come up to him yesterday to ask him about Shuri, after she’d stormed out of the store.

 

( _“Who was that girl? I’ve seen her around campus, and the professors tell me she’s a veritable engineering genius.”_

_“Why,” Erik had snarked, “think she’s cute?”_

_Instead of replying, MJ drops her pencil, glares at him, and flounces off back to her table, a hint of pink on her cheeks._ )

 

Shuri’s still listing positive qualities about MJ a minute later, and Erik clears his throat, slides a glass of soy milk over to her. “Breathe,” he says. “You’re having a lesbian crisis.”

 

“I’m _not_ having a lesbian crisis,” she snarls, downing the soy milk like it’s a shot of tequila and she’s had a long day. “I’m-” She stops short, thinks, and tries to take another swig of soy milk, only to find the glass is empty. Erik wordlessly pours her another glass, and she chugs it down again.

 

“Oh my god,” Shuri says in a small voice, not even bothering to wipe off her milk moustache. “I’m _having a lesbian crisis_.”

 

~

 

“ _My sister_ is having a _lesbian crisis_.”

 

Erik eyes T’Challa, who is slumped on the bar counter. “Hey,” he says, “I’m not fucking Aunt Agony. Why does everyone come to me with their problems?”

 

“Because when they come here and vent, they take one look at your face and realise their lives aren’t so bad at all,” T’Challa shoots back snarkily, though with zero malice. Erik rolls his eyes as he mixes together T’Challa’s coffee – a café special made with two shots of espresso and a knob of butter. It’s his special menu item called the Black Panther, and Erik rolls it out for customers who look like they need an extra caffeine kick; if T’Challa has been stressing out about Shuri’s gay awakening then he’ll definitely need the boost.

 

“Classy,” he says dryly, and waves the second shot of espresso in T’Challa’s face. “If you’re too snarky you’ll have the strength of the Black Panther taken away.”

 

T’Challa straightens at that, and makes grabby hands for the espresso shot. “No,” he wheezes. “I need that double shot. Also, I’m starving. Why don’t you sell food?”

 

“Then stop being such an idiot about this,” replies Erik. “If your sister is old enough to attend college she’s old enough to make her own life decisions. Becoming lesbian is far from the worst thing she could do in college.” A pause. “And I can’t cook for shit, so no food for you.”

 

T’Challa shrugs.

 

“I don’t have a problem with the lesbian part,” he says. “As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t really matter whether she dates a guy or a girl. It’s just…. she’s still my baby sister, yknow?”

 

(He doesn’t pick up the food point. Erik suspects he’s plotting. Erik hopes he’s not plotting.)

 

He mixes the coffee and passes it across the counter. “…You’re a good brother,” he says gruffly, unsure of how to deal with the situation. The two of them sit comfortably in silence for a couple of minutes while T’Challa sips his coffee.

 

“Wanna meddle and set them up?”

 

Erik smirks. “ _Hell_ yeah.”

 

~

 

There’s a scary woman staring Erik down.

 

There’s a scary-as-hell woman in a power pantsuit and glossy heels standing at his counter, peering at his chalkboard menu imperiously. Her fingernails, painted blood red, drum on his counter as she deliberates, and Erik wonders if she knows there’s a queue forming behind her. (He doesn’t dare to ask.)

 

“Hm,” she says, turning to him. “One latte and one… do you do decaf?”

 

“No,” he replies, manfully resisting the urge to add _ma’am_. “We have filter coffee though, and tea.”

 

She snorts. “W’Kabi doesn’t take tea. One filter, then. I’ll be having the coffee here; don’t make the filter yet until he gets here, but I’ll pay for it first.”

 

Erik fumbles the coins she hands over. “You know W’Kabi?” (The man hadn’t come in today for his usual two lattes, and Erik’s not _concerned_ , dammit, he’s just wondering where his most predictable source of morning income went.)

 

A corner of her lips twitches up. “I hope so,” she says dryly, “considering that he took our dog to the vet this morning.”

 

She takes the coffee and heads to one of the small tables by the window, digging out two huge black binders from _somewhere_ in her bag (how? is it a pocket dimension?) and spreading them out. Erik watches her take out a yellow highlighter and attack the papers in her binder, before someone clears their throat and he realises there are other customers waiting for coffee too.

 

A couple of hours later and Scary Lady’s gone through two lattes and three highlighters when the door squeaks open and W’Kabi looks in. “Hey man,” he says to Erik, “do you let dogs into your café?”

 

“Only good girls,” Erik replies seriously, and W’Kabi cracks a grin, pushing the door open wider to let in a black Lab wearing a plastic Cone of Shame. She slinks in, but must have picked up on Scary Lady’s scent, because she starts to tug at her leash and head in the direction of the window. W’Kabi lets her go. Erik keeps an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t barrel through any chairs on the way.

 

“Hey,” W’Kabi says, grinning as he slides into a counter seat. Wordlessly, Erik passes him the filter coffee that Scary Lady had ordered in advance, and W’Kabi blinks bemusedly at it.

 

“How did you know I don’t take too much caffeine in the afternoons?”

 

“I don’t,” Erik says, jutting his chin in the direction of Scary Lady. “The intimid- ah, confident lady over there ordered it for you.” W’Kabi lets his slip slide, and instead a soft smile steals over his face as he takes a sip of the filter coffee.

 

“Ah, beautiful Okoye,” he says happily. “Always so thoughtful.”

 

“Girlfriend?”

 

“Wife,” says W’Kabi, his smile getting even soppier. He looks so in love it’s kind of gross, so Erik clears his throat and tries to change the topic. Kind of.

 

“So, uh, what does she do? Only, she’s been taking it out on those files for a while and I’m fearing for her stationery bill at this point.”

 

“Ah, she’s a partner for Dora Milaje. They’ve got a big trial coming up next week, but she hit a roadblock so she’s been trying a change of environment to help her form her arguments.”

 

Erik chokes. Dora Milaje is _the_ biggest law firm in town, and they have a reputation for ruthless but efficient advocacy in court. _Damn_ , no wonder W’Kabi’s so happy to work from home and play househusband. She probably makes enough each month to pay Erik’s entire yearly rent for the store.

 

He must look like a deer in headlights, because W’Kabi chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “She’s not going to flay you alive, unless you’re on the witness stand, so you’re fine, buddy.”

 

With that, he picks up the rest of his coffee and ambles over to join his wife, while Erik stares blankly after them, feeling a little like his world has been massively shaken in the past 5 minutes.

 

~

 

“Hi, um, is this the Better Ground? I heard you were hiring bakers?”

 

It’s 5 minutes past opening time and Erik’s not expecting any customers, so he nearly drops the mug he’s drying. There’s a tentative-looking young woman looking in, and he frowns at her.

 

“I’m not hiring anyone, I don’t have the budget.”

 

“Oh.” She bites her lip, but steps fully into the store. “I’m Nakia. T’Challa told me his favourite coffee place was lacking in food, and that you sorely needed a baker. Was he wrong?”

 

Erik resists the urge to facepalm. _Damn_ T’Challa and his plotting to hell.

 

“I’m not hiring. T’Challa’s just grumpy he doesn’t have an excuse to bum around here and try to set his sister up once he finishes his coffee.” This causes her to quirk a small smile, and seems to give her enough bravado to step closer to the counter.

 

“I don’t need to work full time or earn a big salary; I bake as stress relief and I always end up with too much so it’d be nice to sell the extra.” She reaches into the bag she’s carrying and takes out a Tupperware container. When she opens the lid, a wonderful aroma floats out, and any protest dies at the tip of Erik’s tongue.

 

“Banana bread,” she adds in explanation, handing a chunk over. “I figured you might want to taste test before deciding.”

 

Erik plucks it from her fingers and eats it, and stills. “Holy _shit_ ,” he says, as reverently as he can with his mouth full of crumbs. “This is _so good_. You’re hired.”

 

“Glad we could see it my way,” she smiles. “I’m happy to just take a cut of the proceeds from the sale of the baked goods; I have another full time job so I don’t need a proper salary if you’re low on budget.”

 

“Fifty-fifty,” Erik counters immediately, and Nakia fights a smile.

 

“I keep 70%.”

 

“60%.”

 

A laugh, and she hands him another piece of banana bread. “Deal.”

 

Erik eats this piece in a single bite, grinning in return. This is going to be a _wonderful_ partnership. Like bananas and chocolate. Or, well, banana bread and his stomach. Basically, it’s going to be great.

 

~

 

The baked goods prove to be a big hit. MJ now comes in almost every day, and sits herself down with her sketchbook and two muffins. Of course, this means that Shuri also starts coming by more often after Erik casually mentions MJ’s love for Nakia’s blueberry muffins. Sometimes when business is quiet she and Erik take turns to fight the Pokemon gym across the road, or try out close by raids. He supposes she’s not bad, even if she’s Team Mystic; at least she’s not Instinct trash like T’Challa. (Why he’s still friends with T’Challa, he’ll never know.)

 

Today she’s sat at a table on the other end of the café, not-so-discreetly staring at MJ while shredding the napkin in her hands. “Hey,” says Erik, replacing the napkin with a slice of lemon pound cake. “Go and talk to her, dumbass.”

 

T’Challa turns and nods at this (but frowns at “dumbass”), before going back to what looks to be annual financial statements. Erik did one year of accounting in university and hated it; he is reminded anew of how much he does not regret that decision when he sees the tiny numbers on the page.

 

“No,” hisses Shuri, like she does every week. “That’ll be _awkward_.”

 

Before Erik can reply, the door is pushed open, and a gangly white boy with a mop of sandy hair peeks in. “MJ!” he crows, yelling across half the café. “Is this what you’ve abandoned our study dates for?”

 

MJ does not look flustered, does not even look up from her sketching. “There’s better coffee here.”

 

“ _Hey_ , you take that back! My Parker Special instant coffee is the _bomb_ , you witch-”

 

Shuri lets out an involuntary snort, and the white boy turns to look at her and brightens. “Shuri!” he says, changing paths and sliding into a chair at Shuri’s table instead. “Man, can I borrow your quantum physics homework? I don’t understand it as well as you do.”

 

Ah, so a classmate. Erik picks up another slice of cake and bring it to Shuri’s table – if her food’s on T’Challa’s tab today surely the guy will be okay with paying for Shuri’s friends too, right?

 

Shuri looks up as Erik approaches. “Peter, this is Erik, he’s cranky as hell but he makes good coffee,” she tells the white guy. “Erik, this is Peter. He’s a nerd.”

 

“A friend of the lovely MJ?” Erik asks Peter. “She’s one of my best customers.” Peter nods, grinning, and explains that they’d gone to the same high school, and Erik smells opportunity like a shark scenting blood.

 

“Maybe you should go and catch up with her,” says Erik. “Introduce her to your new good friend.”

 

Shuri realises one second too late what he’s getting at, and her face pales in horror. “No, you shithead-” she starts, but Peter has already accepted that this is a Good Idea and has a vice grip on her arm, dragging her over to where MJ has put down her sketchbook in favour of observing the chaos. Only Erik notices the slight flush on MJ’s cheeks when she sees Shuri coming in her direction.

 

 _Ha_ , he thinks. _Master matchmaker, thy name is Erik._

 

He watches as Peter introduces the two girls, and they immediately get into some nerdy-ass debate (at one point he hears the words _quantum_ and _Higgs boson_ , and figures it’s better not to ask).

 

“Oh god, she’s never going to shut up about that girl now,” says T’Challa dryly, and Erik shrugs.

 

“At least she won’t be mooning over MJ.”

 

“Ah. Point.”

 

A pause, then: “If they don’t get together in a month I’m going to trip one of them into the other so I can stop the mooning.”

 

~

 

(Spoiler alert: They stop the mooning two weeks later. No tripping was involved.)

 

~

 

Erik stares at the shiny new Aeropress machine that W’Kabi plonks onto his counter first thing on a Saturday morning. It being a weekend, Okoye is with him holding an excited Rhino (now cone-free), looking very satisfied at Erik’s surprise.

 

“Um,” Erik says, still looking at the Aeropress. He’s been wanting to try Aeropress coffee for a while now but between trying to keep enough of his profits to pay the rent and buying enough coffee to sustain his business he hasn’t really had the financial flexibility.

 

“Oh,” says Okoye, like she’s just remembered something. She digs another box out of her bag (seriously, how does she fit so much in there?!) and puts it on the counter besides W’Kabi’s Aeropress. It’s a cold brew coffee maker. Erik stares some more. “You need some more coffee variety,” she says, in response to his stunned silence.

 

“…Merry Christmas?” he tries. It’s not even December, but hey, whatever works.

 

W’Kabi snorts. “You forgot your own birthday?”

 

“…Oh.” Erik _hasn’t_ forgotten his own birthday, but it’s strange to have others celebrating it with him. He’s spent his last birthday yelling at a Youtube video while trying to learn how to do basic latte art, the one before hauling his wasted ass out of a club, and so on. It’s not really that special anymore, so it’s a surprise that people want to celebrate it with him…

 

…Wait.

 

“How do you know my birthday?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

 

W’Kabi shrugs, flapping a hand. “Shuri,” he says, like that explains everything. Erik thinks about a bored, genius teenager with too much time on her hands, and sighs. Yes, that does explain everything.

 

The door opens again and Shuri runs in like a human bullet. “Ummeli!” she crows, diving in to hug Okoye. Okoye neatly sidesteps, but Shuri can’t stop her momentum and crashes to the ground. She twitches, and then gets up and pets Rhino, pretending like that had been her original target all along.

 

“Nice to see you too, squirt,” says Erik. “No thanks for the Internet stalking, though.”

 

“Nothing is _ever_ fully erased from the Internet,” she grins. “Should have been more judicious with information on your Facebook profile.”

 

There’s an _oof_ from the door, and Erik turns to see a walking cardboard box bang into the door. “Dammit, Shuri,” yells the box, muffled through the closed glass, “you were supposed to hold the door open for me!”

 

Shuri blinks. “Oops,” she says, without a shred of remorse.

 

Nakia appears (from _where_?) and opens the door, revealing the walking box to be T’Challa holding a box. “Happy birthday,” he tells Erik after setting the box down with a thud. “Congratulations on no longer being a soy milk-hating asshole.”

 

“That was _one time_ ,” Erik sputters, to which T’Challa mutters _that’s only because I gave you free soy milk_ and bends down to open the box.

 

It’s a box of _Blue Mountain coffee_. What the hell.

 

Shuri looks at his face and laughs. “That’s what you get for having no personality – we only got you coffee-related stuff. Except for me,” she adds, and pulls out a slightly squished cap. “I got you a Team Valor cap. Because you’re okay, I guess. For someone who isn’t in Mystic.”

 

Meanwhile, Nakia has opened her own box to reveal a glistening loaf of banana bread. Man, Erik _loves_ birthdays now.

 

The door bangs open and Peter and MJ run in, exhilarated and breathless. “Shuri!” Peter yells. “Guess what? We saw Mr Stark, on a _daaaaaate_!”

 

“ _Professor_ Stark,” MJ says, rolling her eyes, and Shuri snorts.

 

“People who can be proven wrong by college students don’t deserve to be called Professor,” she and Peter say in unison, and they high-five. They are _terrors_. Erik is reluctantly impressed.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” sighs MJ, stepping around Peter to place a small smiling Pikachu plush on the counter. “We got you a buddy for the cashier.”

 

“…Thanks, guys,” says Erik gruffly. He’s trying very hard not to feel emotions. It’s not really working.

 

“Give us gratitude discounts!” chirps Shuri, before she is quickly silenced with a _thwack_ to the head from T’Challa. She pouts, and changes tack. “It’s nice to have a coffee place where we can relax, y’know. Sometimes we get stared at a lot when we go into Starbucks, and even if nobody really says anything rude it just feels like we don’t belong. Here I can just focus on the coffee and feel at home, without worrying if the barista will judge me because I want soy milk in my latte, or….well. You know.”

 

“I _did_ judge you.” Erik’s touched, but he feels the need to point that out.

 

“Yeah,” she shrugs, “but you regretted it very quickly. Good man.” Erik’s lips quirk at that.

 

“What we want to say,” adds W’Kabi, “is thanks, for giving us a safe space with good coffee.”

 

“That shouldn’t be something you should feel grateful for,” says Erik dryly. “Baristas should only be allowed to judge you if you add syrupy shit to your coffee.”

 

“Amen,” Peter laughs, ignoring the glare Shuri sends his way. Next to him, Nakia takes a lighter out from her purse and lights the candle stuck into the banana bread.

 

“Amen,” she echoes. “Now, make a wish so we can all eat.”

 

 

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Xhosa translations (used by Shuri):  
> ubhuti = older brother  
> ummeli = godmother
> 
> Erik being a Pokemon Go nut was entirely inspired by [Michael B Jordan making anime great again](https://nerdist.com/8-times-michael-b-jordan-geeked-out-over-anime/). I couldn't resist. (sorry to y'all who don't play pokemon go)
> 
> The Thing™ when people drink good coffee was inspired by [this wonderful Rogue One rebelcaptain fanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9635435) by [jormaperalta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jormaperalta/pseuds/jormaperalta), please read it it is amazing and i love it so much
> 
> Please don't judge people's soy milk orders y'all. Dairy allergies/lactose intolerance are some serious shit. Just let the customer do their thang.
> 
> Butter coffee recently became a trend in the Western world but it's been [a thing in Southeast Asia](https://guide.michelin.sg/en/butter-coffee) for forever. Promise it's not as dubious as it sounds.
> 
> All descriptions of coffee were written with only second-hand recounts of what good coffee tastes like, with a liberal application of Google on the side. This author does not drink coffee.
> 
> Might post more offshoots and scenes from this AU? We'll see :>


End file.
